


London Moon [AC:Syndicate]

by Banana_Rex



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed Syndicate, Blood and Violence, Gen, Supernatural Elements, Templars, Torture, Werewolves, non canon storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_Rex/pseuds/Banana_Rex
Summary: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate fanfiction, with supernatural elements. Diverges from canon story rapidly.In which Jacob Frye finds a strange object whilst searching for the Piece of Eden, and ends up being forced to believe in the supernatural.Contains violence and scenes of torture. Might have romance later on, but it depends which direction it goes.Spoiler: Werewolves (if the title wasn't enough of a giveaway already)Actively being updated!
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. Dusty Relics

_\- even a man who is pure of heart,_

_and says his prayers by night,_

_may become a wolf,_

_when the wolfbane blooms,_

_and the Autumn moon is bright_

_02:35 AM_

Jacob held his breath as he carefully made his way down the side of the building. One wrong move, one loose brick, and he’d be plummeting to the streets of London far below. It was early in the morning, the faint glow of distant factories enough to illuminate the patrolling guards - he just had to hope they didn’t look up. Finally, Jacob reached the window he was aiming for, quietly unsheathing his dagger to pry open the lock before sliding inside. The room was plush, with solid oak furniture and shelves filled with row upon row of collectors’ items, no doubt worth a small fortune.

“Now, where might that Piece of Eden be….” He’d been told a rumour by one of the street urchins that the Templars had found something otherworldly, and that it was being moved to a safe location the next day. Evie had been out researching the potential locations for the very artifact, and he’d made the decision that there wasn’t enough time to find her. Besides, she always wanted to overly plan things. Jacob grinned as he imagined what his sister’s face would be like when he brought back the Piece of Eden she’d been searching for - not that he’d been rehearsing what witty remark he’d say all afternoon, of course. Creeping around the room, he gently pried open boxes, looking for anything odd. Little did Jacob know that there was no Piece of Eden, that the whole situation was fiction, the urchin paid to slip him information with which he’d be forced into action - forced into a trap. On the other side of the door, Templars lay in wait, guns loaded.

“Why don’t we go now?” Hissed one, before falling silent as Starrick raised a finger in warning.

“Let him get frustrated first, that way he will be more likely to make mistakes. Don’t forget, we need him alive in order to find his sister – after all, she is the more competent of the two.” He smirked. “So go for the legs, he won’t be needing those.” Meanwhile Jacob was indeed getting more frantic in his searching, beginning to ignore the rest of his senses as he focused on finding the object that wasn’t there. It was in that moment that his eye caught an item, sitting in a dusty glass container, inked label scrawled with the words “unknown animal tooth”. Distracted from his current task for a second, Jacob gingerly picked the lid off the box, lifting out a large fang, turning it over in his palm. It was oddly cold. Too large to be anything he’d encountered before, likely just some trophy from a wealthy noble’s trip abroad. Still, it was the sort of thing to interest him - ‘ _barbaric_ ’ Evie would state, but hey, it wasn’t like his little collection of creature skulls and weapons was doing any harm.

“Weird.” Going to pocket it, Jacob stopped at the last second as the edges began softly glowing. Confused, he scratched his head - this was most definitely _not_ the Shroud, and he hadn’t heard of another Piece of Eden being here, especially as it had been apparently long forgotten about judging by the coatings of dust, but what else could it be? 

There was a sudden twinge as static shocked his fingers, causing Jacob to drop the item in surprise. As it lay there on the floor, harsh light expanding, a form began to appear. In the next instant, a huge wolf materialised around the object, fang sitting neatly in ghostly jaws, before it snarled and leapt forwards. “What?!” Forgetting where he was, Jacob yelled out in shock, falling to the floor with a thud as he swiped his blade at the creature.

Nothing happened, the dagger passing through the wolf like smoke. Starrick and the rest of the Templars burst through the door, stopping in their tracks in shock, mouths open - because they sure as hell weren’t expecting _that_ either. The creature continued moving towards Jacob, who scrabbled away as far as he could, trying to put as much distance between himself and the thing, until he collided rather suddenly with a glass cabinet and sent it smashing into pieces. Still the apparition stalked closer, seemingly uninterested in the Templars at the doorway. No, its eyes - if you could call those glowing, soul-less orbs that - were fixated on him with an intensity that chilled him. “Good dog, uh, wolf -” No response. “You - stay the hell away from me!” Jacob attempted to stand, wincing as his hand was sliced open on a shard of glass, and in that moment the wolf lunged.

Next came searing, white-hot agony as jaws clamped around his left arm, the fang holding the specter together plunging deep into his flesh. “Fuck, get off!” He wrestled against it, blade whistling through the wolf’s head as through air. Warm blood - _his_ blood - began seeping through Jacob’s sleeve, pooling on the carpet, and for a moment he found himself thinking about how hard that was going to be to clean, ha ha - before he was jerked to the side in a fresh wave of pain. Meanwhile, the Templars had finally shaken themselves out of their stunned silence, and were raising guns to fire. Of course the whole thing had been a trap, and now he was either going to be shot or torn to pieces. Great way to go. Jacob could feel himself growing dizzy from the blood loss, a roaring in his ears signifying a faint was fast approaching - and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t wake up from that. In a last ditch effort, he sliced again at the creature blindly, only to find his dagger glancing off the fang.

_Of course, the fang!_

He’d been an idiot. That was what had started all this, what the wolf had coalesced around and the item that had given it form - the only tangible thing about it. If he focused on that, then maybe, just maybe…. Tossing his weapon aside, Jacob grabbed at the fang where it was lodged in his arm, hand passing through the ghostly head easily. Luckily his theory held true, and after wrenching at it with what was left of his fast-dwindling strength, Jacob yanked it free, tossing the bloodied object far from him, watching as it collided with a wall and shattered. Immediately, the wolf stepped back, form flickering like a candle caught in a breeze.

It was at that point that the Templars decided to open fire. Ignoring the mess his arm was in, Jacob dove out of the way, a volley of bullets plowing into the wood and passing through the unharmed apparition, which turned to regard the group with hunger as its form began to break apart and waver.

“Stay back, foul beast!”

Dazed, Jacob used the opportunity to crawl his way to the window he’d entered from, trying his best to ignore the darkness closing in on his vision. He could feel his energy fading fast, and knew that he only had minutes before he’d lose consciousness, that he needed to get medical help as soon as he could. Whilst his enemies were occupied, Jacob lifted his remaining good arm - unfortunately his bracer and zipwire had been crushed by the wolf’s attack - and attempted to lower himself out over the balcony. He got about halfway before his fingers - sticky with way too much blood - slipped, and he found himself falling, unable to grasp for another hold.

Meanwhile, the wolf stood still, staring the now empty-gunned Templars down. It lifted its muzzle to howl, a horrifying and mournful sound that echoed out through the night, before turning to dust along with the shattered pieces of fang.

* * *

Jacob had been incredibly lucky, his fall being broken by an empty carriage that was stationed beneath the window. He’d since dragged himself to an abandoned house in the slums, unable to summon the strength to get any further.

“So this is how it ends,” he whispered, laughing weakly. “Killed by a ghost….” He remembered making fun of his sister for believing in the occult, and here he was, wounded and dying because of an apparition. Perhaps she’d even find this funny after a few years of grieving. Eyelids drawing heavy, breathing growing slow, he slid to the grimy floor and finally gave into the blanket of unconsciousness, sure he would never wake again.

For a second, he could have sworn he’d seen the wolf again, this time flitting between the forms of man and beast, a dark forest curling in. They stretched a clawed hand out towards him, and then Jacob saw no more.


	2. Hot Stew

Excruciating pain. That’s what Jacob awoke to, searing white and hot like flames circling his body whole, a million blades down his spine. He opened his mouth to scream yet nothing came out.

“Calm yourself boy.” A familiar voice, elderly and authoritative, came from beside Jacob. He turned his head to see Darwin wringing a damp cloth out, gently placing it over his brow. “Some of your Rooks found you, before you ask. Good thing they did too, as that wound of yours would have killed you, and you had enough sense in you to mutter my address.” He smiled. “Didn’t realise this old fool had made that much of an impression”. He had just enough energy left in him to sigh in relief, as Darwin lifted a cup of tea to his lips and prompted Jacob to drink. “Come, this will set you to sleep again. Sometimes the best medicine is the most simple, and it’ll allow me to treat your wounds without you feeling it.”

 _Hard to argue with that logic._ He drank down the hot opium-infused liquid, feeling his mind drift off once more.

The next few days passed by in a blur of waking to the familiar pain, the sleeping tea Jacob’s only respite. He was vaguely aware of visitors coming and going, his sister included – her scolding words unable to disguise her worry – but his mind was elsewhere. What had that strange fang come from? Why did it create a ghostly form, and why could it hurt those around it? What had it done after he had fled? So many questions. But for now, he’d have to wait for the answers…if any were to be found.

Eventually Jacob awoke from his drug-induced daze. He was alone in an attic room, sounds of footsteps – no doubt Darwin’s – echoing from the floor below. It was a relief to see that his left arm was still attached to his body, and after giving the fingers a quick wiggle to check, apparently still in working order. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, still weak from injury and days spent not eating. There were bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around where he’d been bitten, and curiosity soon began to get the better of Jacob. Slowly, breath held, he began to unwrap the layers, using the edge of the bedsheets to wipe dried layers of blood from his skin.

“No way.” It was almost as unbelievable as the ghost entity that had caused the wound in the first place, but the bite had already healed, his arm scarred but not damaged in function. “It can’t be.”

 _Unless…._ Panicked, Jacob ran his hand over his chin, half expecting to find a beard. For it to have healed that much, how many months had he been out? He jumped to his feet, dashing down the stairs and almost colliding with a group of people.

“Jacob? I thought I’d lost you!” His sister stood up, eyes red and cheeks streaked with the faint telltale marks of tears. She grabbed him in a tight hug, face buried in his clothes, her usually strong demeanor weak.

“How long was I out?” She didn’t reply, clutching him tight as if he were about to vanish. Sobs of relief wracked her slight frame.

“D- don’t you ever, _ever_ do that to me again.”

But the question remained. “How long, Evie?” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Months?” She looked up at him, puzzled, and he felt the overwhelming pang of fear. “Years?!”

“It’s only been three days, Jacob.” There was a hand on his shoulder, and Henry was standing there, a concerned Darwin close by.

“Three days?” This didn’t make any sense. He knew that they had to be lying by the scar on his arm, trying to soften the blow, and his mouth set into an angry snarl. “That’s impossible, completely impossible. Tell me the _truth_!” There was a gentle tug at his sleeve, and turning his head, he glanced down to see Evie staring at him, concern on her face. She’d never lie to him, that he knew.

“Henry’s telling the truth, Jacob. And…as I glad as I am to see you awake, you shouldn’t be up right now. You’ve still got a long way to go before you’re back to full health, so don’t even think about getting back out there, not with your wounds. I know what you’re like.” There was the all too familiar nagging of his sister, but this time it was welcome rather than annoying. Still –

“Then explain this!” He lifted his left arm, displaying the neatly healed scars.

Oh.

The reactions that ensued were not what Jacob was expecting. Shock, mostly, and amazement at those very marks. It turned out that it had indeed only been three days since the incident, and that within that short period of time, something unthinkable had happened.

“I think I’d better tell you how I got this in the first place.” Jacob stuttered, sitting down on the floor, legs giving out. It was rather too much to take in, but perhaps Henry might be able to explain some of it. Thank goodness it was all over now.

… At least, that’s what he thought.

* * *

It was over a week before they’d let him step outside. Henry kept wanting to run ‘tests’, staring over his healed wound like it was some old relic, Evie worried that he’d suddenly keel over. She insisted he wore some dusty old cloak, leaving late in the evening to escort him. Jacob felt like a child being coddled.

Even so, the cool air of night was welcome and refreshing, Jacob leaning back to take a deep breath in. All his senses seemed on fire, the familiar smells of street vendor’s goods, the sound of chatting from a nearby pub, everything was overwhelmingly loud, yet clear and distinct all at once. He’d forgotten how good it felt to just take a moment to pause. And the moon…currently only a thin sliver in the sky, it was beautiful and oddly mesmerising. Made him feel at peace.

“Come on, Jacob!” Evie hissed, tugging at his sleeve. It seemed like she had other ideas. Still, he couldn’t fault her for worrying. After all, if it had been her that was hurt, he’d be just as protective. He found himself being pushed and pulled through the shadows, his sister ensuring that they stayed out of sight the entire way, muttering about there being more Blighters since he disappeared.

 _Cocky little shits. They think Jacob’s dead and they’re crawling out of the woodwork already._ He made a mental note to give his Rooks a talking to about this.

Before long they’d reached the station, where their train hideout lay waiting. After a quick glance around, Jacob found himself being pushed onboard and into the cabin, where a worried Agnes and Nigel practically charged headfirst into him.

“Oh, we wer’ so worried!” Agnes fussed around the stove. “Come ‘n sit yerself down, and le’ me make ye a cuppa somethin warm.” The attention was both annoying and frustrating at the same time, Jacob permitting himself a small smile. Meanwhile Nigel pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t you go leavin’ me again Mr Frye.” He found himself caught off balance, stumbling back against the carriage wall. It was the second hug he’d received in a short period of time, and despite previously always enjoying attention - craving it, his sister would sometimes mutter - he found intimate contact like this made him flinch. Call it trust issues for spending years stabbing people who got too close. As Jacob went to say some witty remark back, he found the words catching in his throat – the young man’s cheeks were streaked raw with tears. Had he missed him that much? “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re like a brother to me.” There it was. Surprisingly, Jacob had begun to view Nigel as a younger brother of sorts over the last few months, despite previously always wanting to wall himself off from emotional ties. Perhaps it had something to do with their shared love of weapons and jokes.

Ruffling the lad’s hair, Jacob sighed before gingerly releasing himself from the embrace. “And you’re like a brother to me too. After all, who else would I go on railway heists with? I still owe you a new gatling.” That earned him a quick grin from Nigel, before a tutting Agnes was there, pushing mugs of hot stew into their hands. The four of them sat on the end of the carriage, watching the train tracks whir past, letting the night grow long and dark, before the glow of day finally approached and their eyelids grew heavy.


	3. Broken Bones

Jacob was getting increasingly restless with each night that passed. He could understand why the others were being so overbearingly protective - even from the confines of the carriage he’d noticed that there was a hell of a lot more enemy presence on the streets, and he was pretty sure it was to do with a certain supposedly heavily wounded assassin being looked for. It wasn’t as if they’d expect him to rise from the dead - heck, even he’d not expected that - but Starrick wouldn’t be the sort to be against using his corpse as a way to get at Evie, to break morale of the Rooks. Jacob permitted himself a wry grin as he imagined the look on the man’s face when he finally resurfaced.

There was something different about this unsettled feeling, however. It wasn’t that he was just desperate to stretch his legs, it was that there was a certain…itching, an unnatural feeling that scratched at the back of his eyelids. Sometimes he found himself waking in a sweat, Agnes fussing about him like a hen, throat dry from screaming out, having nightmares of that damned forest and a wolf, over and over again, until he wasn’t certain what was real anymore, whether he was the wolf and this train was a dream instead. How simple that would be.

Of course, he didn’t tell Evie this. The others had told her about his restless sleep, and Henry had diagnosed him with ‘PTSD’ or the like, but he knew what that was, and this sure as hell wasn’t it. No, this was different. The worst part was, it kept getting stronger with each sunset, until he found himself dreading closing his eyes.

Eventually, Jacob couldn’t take it any longer. He managed to scrounge together some old clothes, unassuming and basic in nature, and when the train pulled up at the next station he slipped into the crowds. Having been apart from the bustle of London for a time meant that everything seemed so much more vivid. He could smell, hear, see things he’d never noticed before - even with eagle vision - and at first the cacophony was overwhelming, until he was snapped out of it by some Blighters sauntering past. Suppressing the urge to yell ‘surprise!’ and wipe their smug grins off their faces, Jacob instead headed deeper into the borough. He didn’t mind the meals Agnes prepared, but god if he wasn’t ready for a decent ale.

He kept his head down, cap covering his features, making sure to smear a daub of soot over the familiar scar on his chin. Unfortunately, against his better judgment - or lack of it - Jacob found himself outside the entrance to Topping’s underground fight ring, the thick door doing little to cover up the crowd’s cheers from within.

“I really shouldn’t….” But nevertheless, he found himself entering, promising himself he’d only watch this time. But after watching a few rounds, he couldn’t help but want to scratch the itch to participate. Normally Jacob would have taken his shirt off in a brazen display of pride, so that everyone knew by the eagle tattoo it was him in the ring, but today he decided to keep a low profile - or at least as low as he could, considering he was about to step into a fight. After all, Evie would no doubt be looking for an excuse to tell him off when he finally returned.

“Here to wager?”

“To participate, actually.” Jacob peered up at the betting board from under his cap. The woman shrugged, pulling out a piece of chalk and holding it pointedly at a blank space waiting. “Wolf.” He winced with slight embarrassment.

“Wha’ kind of stupid name is that,” she muttered, before writing it up, “brash newcomers and their titles ‘n all. Save ‘em for the big hitters.” Allowing himself a small grin, Jacob tried his hardest not to chuckle at being called new to the ring. Almost felt bad for his opponents, even - they’d likely match him up with other fresh meat, and he’d have to reign in the punches somewhat.

Finally it was his turn to step into the ring. The evening brawls had long since calmed down, crowds dwindling as the main champions finished their fights and the booze had begun to run dry. But Jacob wasn’t here for the spectators. He felt the anticipation of the ugliness of it all, to just let loose and be only present in the moment. Hell knew he needed a moment to switch off from the confusion that was his life right now.

* * *

Roaring and crashing and screaming and oh fuck the _RED_ , all he could see was red, hearing the yells of the crowd. One, two, and his opponents fell, and he felt powerful, could feel the strength surging through his muscles. Jacob grinned, a devilish glee as he tore the cap from his head, disguise be damned. There were a few surprised shouts as regulars recognised him, and then he was focusing in on the dance, the new energy and grace he could fight with, not giving a single damn that he’d blown his cover. Someone came charging in from the left, and Jacob sidestepped without hesitation, using the man’s momentum to spin him over the edge of the ring, nose freshly broken. He felt at one with the pounding of his own heartbeat, a low growl escaping unbidden.

 _That’s new._ He was given an odd look by his next challenger for that, but what the hell - it felt good to give into instincts again. A low punch clipped him on the jaw, startling him out of his thoughts, and Jacob responded with a blow to the attacker’s arm, slightly shocked by the crunch that followed. He hadn’t been aiming for a break, yet it had been easy. After a few more rounds, Jacob dipped out, feeling bad for the amount of damage he’d managed to inflict.

“Christ Frye, that was…something.” Topping whistled. “Don’t know where you’ve been holed up these last couple of weeks, but I sure as hell didn’t see that coming.”

“Me neither.” Jacob muttered, pulling the top off an ale with his teeth and knocking it back. “Guess I can’t stay away, even against better judgment.”

Evie was going to kill him. That was, if the Blighters didn’t get to him first. He could feel their stares on the back of his neck, skin prickling in anticipation of another fight, and hey, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Wiping a streak of blood from his chin - not his, mind you - he gave them a pointed stare, before they shuffled off, probably to break the news that Jacob was still very much alive.


	4. Ghost Club

Returning to the others was the easy part. The explanation? Not so much. It was rather telling how used to Evie’s scolding Jacob was, but he felt guilty for once this time - likely due to the fact that her admonishments were tinged with worry. Still, it was inevitable that he would want to leave hiding at some point, and even she knew this.

 _Perhaps she was enjoying the relative peace for once._ Jacob allowed himself a small smile at that. True, his methods weren’t always the most…subtle, but a little mayhem never hurt. Despite Evie’s protests, he’d thrown himself back into trying to regain what had been lost to the Blighters. It was rather telling that the Rooks had become lax in his absence, and after a little shuffling of leadership priorities, Jacob felt confident that they’d be able to hold the boroughs. He quite enjoyed having to fight for the territory again too. It took a few more evenings coming back to the train with bloodied clothes - yet more fighting - for Evie to put her foot down again.

“You ought to do something other than just beating others up all the time. Dickens is having another one of his get togethers -”

“-his stupid ‘ghost club’ you mean?” Jacob rolled his eyes. It was all just a bunch of people with opinions on supposed supernatural phenomenon, something his sister seemed annoyingly interested in.

“It’s not like you can say you don’t believe in that stuff anymore.”

“I -” Lost for words, he just stared at her. It was true, he’d always laughed at ghost stories and the like, but he could hardly deny the existence of oddities given recent events. He’d not told Evie about the recurring dreams - or nightmares, depending on how he viewed them - but they seemed to be blurring into reality on more than one occasion. With an painfully loud sigh, he gave in. “Fine.”

* * *

“Welcome, welcome!” The overly dramatic aspect of it was bemusing, Dickens evidently enjoying having a rapt audience. “Welcome, searchers of truth and diviners of the unexplained!”

 _Ok Evie, I take it all back_. Surrounded by crumbling businessmen and aristocrats, Jacob felt painfully out of place. It quickly became evident that this was just some excuse for a fancy bar crawl of sorts. It wasn’t that he didn’t like getting drunk, it was just that…these weren’t the sort he liked doing that with.

Sure enough, after a few too many beers and cheap ales, the group was on their way to the next ‘haunt’, stopping to search for so-called spooky clues in the streets along the way. It went like this for the first couple of taverns, until finally, they ended up at Dicken’s ‘grand finale’ of the ghost hunt. Jacob shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Filled with a sense that someone was watching him, Jacob glanced around, becoming distracted from the crowd, scanning across the murky alleyways. Then - there, a flash of red.

“Mr Frye? You’re zoning out a bit there chap,” one of the men slapped him on the shoulder, and the red was gone. He snarled, causing them to mutter a quick apology.

“I’ll be right back.” Stalking off after the intruder - truth be told, he had long since grown bored of the ramblings and clumsy, half-drunken search for ghosts - Jacob had no intention of returning. His heart began to quicken in his chest, filled with the thrill of a hunt.

A quick search around the area revealed a muddy mess of footprints, child’s play for an assassin to follow. After a brief climb, Jacob made his way across the rooftops, following the trail. Whoever it was, they’d left in a hurry, no doubt spooked by Jacob going after them, and he managed to glimpse a Blighter in the usual red soon after. Unfortunately, they’d just clambered into a carriage that sped off.

“Shit.” With his zipline still broken - Evie had refused to let him have hers, and Aleck was still working on a replacement - he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to catch up. Setting off into a run, Jacob was surprised at how easy his feet found purchase, the normally dangerous skyline posing no challenge. He was faster than he’d ever been before. The night air was cool and sharp on his face, the street below passing by in a blur. “Ha!” He’d always found free-running fun, but this? This was _exhilarating_.

Luckily it wasn’t long before the carriage slowed to a halt and stopped in an area by the docks, the air thick and sooty with factory smoke. Jacob watched the Blighter in question get out, scurrying off towards a nearby building, then dropped down to creep up behind him with a blade to the throat. “Evenin’.” The chap paled. “Mind telling me why you were snooping around? Or do I have to persuade you?”

“I - I -”

“Don’t call for help.” He pressed the knife a little tighter, aware of the fact that they were likely surrounded by his comrades - unaware for the time being.

“I was paid to do it.”

“By whom?” The silence was deafening. “By _whom_?”

“I don’t know! The boss, she ain’t the sort to tell me where the jobs come from, only what they’re for. I promise Mr Frye, I swear it!”

“So you know who I am.” He hissed. It was a bit redundant of him to say, considering he made no attempt at disguise when consistently beating up their gang in turf wars, but whatever. “Who were you spying on, and why?”

“Y-you.” Jacob frowned. When there was no further response, he twisted the Blighter around - slightly startled by what seemed to be a reflection of his eyes in the nearby window, pale and glinting. The man took his moment of distraction to elbow him in the face, yelling for help.

“You little shit!” Almost immediately, alarm bells started ringing his cue to leave. Jacob narrowly avoided being shot on the way out, and after making sure he was well out of sight, made a mental note to pay said boss a visit later.


	5. Uncovered Intel

It hadn’t been difficult to track down this so-called boss. Blighters were easy to spot, and even easier to get to talk when they realised they were on their on their own against a certain well-known assassin. After a few dead ends, he’d finally come across a Blighter high up enough in the chain to tell him where to find her, though he had no doubt she’d taken orders from someone else for payment. He’d observed the shift patterns, and after getting a couple of the guards that were due to be on hopelessly drunk at a nearby pub - Evie should be proud of that lateral thinking, damn it, even though he had kept her uninformed about all of this - Jacob began making his way across the rooftops towards the location.

And what was it about that yawning, burning ache in the pit of his stomach? It had him on edge, felt like his body was tensed up in preparation of a fight, senses on high alert, but more so than usual. Too many weird things were happening lately. Maybe it was the ale talking - yeah, definitely the ale.

_Hmm. I’m afraid not._

“Who?” Jacob whipped around, blade out. “Show yourself!” Silence, only the unnerving feeling of not being alone, his breath curling in the cold evening air. Just him, shouting threats at nothing like a madman. Hell, maybe he _was_ going mad. Not that he had much trust in any of the institutions supposedly offering help, especially after the mess at Lambeth Asylum, and the last thing he wanted was a lobotomy. Below, the streets continued to churn with people, streetlamps slowly being lit, but up here he was by himself - supposedly. After taking a while to ensure he wasn’t being followed, Jacob continued on his way.

* * *

  
Sneaking into the office of the factory had been laughably easy. With the recent mess up, Jacob had been sure the supposed boss would be more well protected, but she was busy going about her business without concern. He cleared his throat.

“Ahem.” That got her attention.

“Oh, it’s you, ain’t it.” A step back, hand twitching towards a brazenly displayed rifle laid on a nearby desk. One quick movement and Jacob closed the gap between them, blocking off the exit. “I ‘eard from the boys you were sniffin’ around.”

“I don’t like being followed much. Perhaps you’d be so kind to inform me as to who exactly wanted me tailed, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Snitchin’ is bad for income, Mr Frye, surely you’ve ‘eard that -” There was a flash of metal, but he’d been expecting her to try something, and after a quick scuffle the knife was tossed aside, its owner nursing a broken wrist.

“And I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m bad for Blighters’ health.”

“Fuck you -”

Jacob growled - there it was again, that feral sound that seemed to come unbidden recently - pulling the woman up by the hem of their collar. “Spit it out, before I decide I’m not feeling so friendly anymore.”

“Alright, alright! Jeesh,” she rolled her eyes in mock contempt, but Jacob could see the fear rising beneath. “Thomas Bradshaw - proper slimy git, seen ‘em around before? Heard they’re a real thorn in Attaway Transport’s side. And yours too, apparently. Now lemme go!”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word. But still, I trust you not to go gabbin’ to this fine fella before I have chance to meet him, unless you want me to reconsider.” He paused, giving a long warning stare before releasing his grip, not bothering to watch her scurry away. Meanwhile Jacob smiled - it sounded like a perfect time to visit Ms Attaway again. He’d missed her wit, and no doubt she’d be thrilled at his interest in dealing with this supposed irritance of hers.

* * *

  
It hadn’t been difficult to track down Ms Attaway’s carriage. Honestly, at this point, Jacob felt she made a point of standing out - and despite a raise of the eyebrow at him opening the door to the moving vehicle, she didn’t seem surprised.

“I do wish you’d not just appear unannounced like this all the time. What if I had guests?”

“S’easier this way. Besides, you refuse to tell me where you live, and I’m not so uncouth to stalk a lady.” That gained him a quiet huff. Gods, he’d missed the back and forth rapport they shared, exchanging thinly veiled insults in the name of fun.

“Not _this_ lady at least. What exactly brings you to me this time, Mr Frye?”

“I’m after information,” he leant back into the plush seats, pouring a glass of sweet wine.

“- by all means, help yourself.”

“If you insist.” That gained him a small smile, and he passed her the glass before serving himself another. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman. But back to the reason I’m here, before you throw me out for wasting your time, eh? There’s a certain individual who goes by the name of a Mr Thomas Bradshaw, whom I’d very much like to meet for…one of my _chats_ , if you catch the drift. And I’ve heard that he’s been giving you trouble as well.”

“I see.” Pearl paused, pressing her fingers together in thought. “Well, you certainly present the opportunity for myself to expand my business ventures further. If I gather the necessary information, I trust you can be…discrete about this?” Jacob opened his mouth to protest, then stopped with a wry grin.

“You certainly know me well.”

“It’s not like your escapades are subtle, Mr Frye. But I’m not too stubborn to admit that our partnership has worked well for my company so far.”

“Well, in that case,” he tipped his hat, unable to resist the urge to wink, “I’ll do my best to ensure that it continues.” And with that he was gone, slipping out from the moving carriage to an audible mutter of _not again_ from behind him.


	6. Museum Rafters

_This damn museum._ The old storeroom was all gloom and wood, and progress through was slow, as although the crates provided ample cover, the floorboards kept threatening to creak underfoot. Moving closer to where he could hear the voices, Jacob inched forwards, then froze. He could have sworn he heard a low growl, and -

There was a movement in the dark, and two canines rushed out of it, thankfully not too noisy in their approach. _Ah. Guard dogs._ That was something Jacob hadn’t been planning on, and he really hated killing the creatures, but they’d be barking soon and then - wait, why weren’t they barking? Curious, and arguably against better judgment, he stretched out a hand to the closest one, and was surprised when they leant into it and allowed him to stroke their head.

“You’re not doing a very good job here, but thanks for not tellin’ on me,” he whispered, quietly enjoying their company. He’d always wanted a dog, but after his father had disposed of one he’d brought home as a child, he’d vowed never to do so again. Some stupid reasons about distractions, or liability, assassin code, blah blah blah, and he’d had to settle for feeding strays when he had the chance. After crouching there for a while, he gave the canine duo a quick ruffle of their fur and moved on. “Stay.” Luckily they knew that one. Creeping closer, he could make out two figures in the gloom, engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument.

“He’s after me now! I should’ve known not to ‘ave taken this job of yours, you gibfaced prick!” Jacob hissed as he recognised one as wearing Order clothing. The other had to be Bradshaw, his target, but what was he doing in a musty museum with a fucking _Templar_?

_Looks like I have two to kill tonight._

“My, what language. Perhaps if you’d done your job properly, this wouldn’t be an issue for you. It’s not like I told you to hire a bunch of blundering fools.” He shifted, and that’s when one of the dogs trotted up to him, tail wagging and huffing happily. The men turned to look over, immediately seeing Jacob and raising weapons to fire.

“I thought I told you to stay?!” He dove out of the way, flinching as the sound of gunshots rang out, and scrabbled to ready his own. Stealing a quick glance over the crates he was behind, however, he was surprised to see Bradshaw sprawled on the floor, fresh blood pooling from a fatal wound. The Templar just stood there, gun still smoking. “Why -”

“He’d served his purpose. I know we’re supposedly sworn enemies, but please, I only wish to talk.”

“Talk like you did to that poor fella? No thanks, I’m not stupid,” Jacob shook his head. “How about you throw away your weapons first.” To his surprise, the Templar did just that, then threw his arms wide.

“I trust this satisfies.”

“I - yes?” Standing up, albeit warily, he made his way over to the Templar with a quick glance to check Bradshaw was actually dead. “Mind telling me what that was all about before I decide to do the same to you?”

“He was under my employ temporarily. I had him following you to observe only, but it appears they were not particularly discrete about it.”

“Changed my mind,” Jacob snarled, rushing in to put his gun against the man’s chest, safety clicking off. The man put up his hands, oddly calm.

“Wait, wait, I still haven’t told you why. You see, I was there that night.”

“That night?” Jacob already had an idea what the Templar was referring to, and he wasn’t happy about it. “You mean the one where you were all ready to blast me to shreds.”

“I was going to refer to the incident with the wolf, but yes, that one. You see, I may be a Templar, but truth be told, once you reach high enough in society you’re not given much of an option. That and I’m rather partial to the perks it brings. If it means bending a knee to some archaic ideals, so be it.”

“Well this is…unexpected.” Bringing the gun down, Jacob raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to talk, you could have just asked.” That brought a loud laugh from the man, who shook his head then paced over to a table and gestured for him to sit down.

“Forgive me if I didn’t think that an assassin would trust a Templar’s word. But regardless, we’re here now.” He stretched out a hand as Jacob took a chair. “I’m Professor Shaw. Could I, well, could I see the bite?” There was an uncomfortable silence as Jacob shifted in his chair, reluctant to let go of his weapons and expose a weak area of skin, but he finally relented. Unclipping the bracer that contained his hidden blade, he rolled up one sleeve and placed the arm in question on the tabletop. “Fascinating! I - sorry.” Shaw had noticed him flinch towards his dagger at the sudden grab.

“It healed within three days.” Jacob offered preemptively, knowing that there was going to be questions. “Along with some choice nightmares at the start.”

“Three days? Is this something, uh, that has extended to other injuries?” He tried not to comment on Shaw’s rough handling of his arm, choosing to ignore the way it was being poked and prodded.

“Sadly not. A one time thing, I’m afraid.”

“Unfortunate. Anything else, like abilities or tendencies? It’s not every day a relic comes to life and bites someone, and the pieces all turned to dust after you’d left, so I had no way of investigating quite what it was, aside from in the limited archive records.” There was an awkward silence, Jacob still not entirely comfortable with the whole situation. It didn’t seem wise to mention the voices he was hearing.

“Why are you so interested? Is this Starrick’s doing?”

“Starrick?” Another laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, that man is only interested in the Shroud, and once it was clear your encounter was nothing to do with a Piece of Eden -”

“You seem to know an awful lot.”

“No need for the eyebrow raise Mr Frye, I am a professor of antiquities after all, that is where my usefulness to the Order lies. This, however, has to do with my own personal interest. Starrick may not be after answers, but I certainly am.”

“Even so, I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you’re after. I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

“Mysteries intrigue my very nature. Now,” he tapped Jacob’s arm, “since we’ve reached the end of our conversation, I’d appreciate it if you could let me take some blood samples.”

“Well, you certainly came prepared.” It took all his strength not to attack the professor when the needles came out, the sense of vulnerability at letting him do this overwhelming, and he couldn’t help but hiss at the sting at his skin. But then it was done, Shaw pocketing the small vials of red.

“I’ll let you know if anything comes of it. Good day, Mr Frye.” A cursory nod. “And I’ll trust that this meeting never happened, if anyone asks?”

“Not sure my sister would believe me if she heard I left a Templar alive,” Jacob muttered, “but yes, you have my word as much as I do yours.” He was almost out of a window when he paused to call out to Shaw, the man turning immediately. “Professor - I wasn’t going to mention, but if you’re truly after answers as much as I am - there’s a voice now. I hear it from time to time. It’s the wolf.” He didn’t wait for the reply, ignoring the shouts after him.


	7. Bitter Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ******* WARNING *******
> 
> **Includes major plot spoiler**
> 
> ******* WARNING *******

The ensuing weeks were spent bringing ruin to Starrick’s plans. Occasionally Jacob would drop in to see the Professor - usually for another blood sample or somesuch - but they hadn’t been making much progress with the whole wolf bite thing, so he had focused his attention on disrupting Templar schemes instead. He’d admit, things had been much easier since their meeting, as he found the concerns about the nightmares and voices less distracting now that he had someone to share them with, even if the interest wasn’t borne out of friendship. There was a keenness to his senses and a strength he hadn’t had before that night too, making Jacob far more efficient. A foiled bank plot, an end to a corrupt Earl - even Evie’s assassination of a certain Lucy Thorne - everything seemed to be going well for the assassins.

For now at least. It came as a mild surprise when Jacob received a letter from Attaway Transport, asking them to meet. He’d been gathering information on how to disrupt Starrick’s upcoming birthday celebrations - because despite Evie’s protests he couldn’t resist - but a quick detour wouldn’t hurt. Finding the ostentatiously decorated vehicle was usually easy regardless, and Ms Attaway had been kind enough to give the specifics of her schedule that day.

“It almost seemed like you missed me.” He waved the letter, grinning. “And here I thought that jumping into moving carriages was something you disliked, or do you really need me for something?”

“As much as I enjoy your humour,” she quipped, pouring their customary glasses of wine - something he’d come to look forward to - and passed him one, “your recent escapades have been changing the market more quickly than I would like. Perhaps you’d consider slowing down?” Jacob took a long sip, pondering.

“How so?”

“It might surprise you to find out that the economy doesn’t take well to rapid changes.”

“Whoever said that it was my fault?” She gave him a long stare, watching as he drained his cup. “Fine, fine, I’ll admit a lot of that was me. But unfortunately my sister is the big boss, I’m terribly sorry and all that.”

“Amusing. Glad to see that you value women’s opinions when it suits you.”

“I -”

“Relax Mr Frye, I tease.” She sighed. “Regardless of reasons, I would ask that perhaps you hold back a little, if only for me. It gladdens me to see you looking more chipper than when we last met. What happened anyway? I had heard rumours back then that you had been badly hurt, were even dead.” Attaway let that last word hang there, an obvious prompt for Jacob to reply. He sighed and hung his head in his hands, peering through them at Ms Attaway, who was regarding him with somewhat bemusement. “Are you ok?”

“Those rumours weren’t entirely unfounded.” Sitting back, he unclipped his bracer to expose the scar that marked his arm. Attaway caught her breath, moving to touch it but holding back at the last minute, until Jacob gave her permission with a quick nod. “Luckily it wasn’t my time.”

“Evidently.” The wine was settling on the back of Jacob’s tongue, and he screwed his nose up in faint disgust.

“This has gone off by the way. You ought ta -” Something wasn’t right. The streets of London were bumpy, sure, but the way the carriage was spinning was too damned unnatural. “Wait.”

 _Fuck. Seriously, Attaway?_ He didn’t know what game she was playing, but that bitter taste and the sensation making him want to vomit was clearly her doing. He pulled his hand back and grasped at the handle of the carriage, ignoring her protests, and practically fell out onto the cobbled street. There was…a voice behind him, muffled and underwater, and he could hear Attaway calling out as he stumbled his way into a nearby alleyway. This was the second time in less than a few months that he felt like he was going to faint, and Jacob was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be as lucky this time.

“Evenin’ Mr Frye.” _Yeah, definitely not_. He had just enough left in him to look up as he saw the group of Blighters blocking his way, then whatever was holding him awake finally gave out.

* * *

Starrick raised an eyebrow at the pile of weapons unceremoniously dumped on his desk.

“And, pray tell, what do you suppose I do with these?” He turned one of the blades over, wondering why the crude item seemed so familiar for a moment, before quickly growing disinterested. “I’m glad that you’ve come to visit, but I do wish you’d given more more notice. I’ve been rather,” he hissed, “ _busy_ dealing with the fallout from a certain pair of troublemakers.”

“Oh cousin, they’re just a hint at your real present,” Attaway smiled, before clapping her hands together and gesturing to the men guarding the door. There was a scuffle as a man, arms bound tight behind the back and rough burlap over his head, was half dragged in, feet scraping across the carpet. Starrick regarded her with a stunned expression.

“My dear Pearl, I really do not understand you. Why in heaven’s name would you think this is a good idea? Do I need to get a physician to see you?” He folded his arms, but was cut off from speaking further.

“ - Happy birthday of course! I do think you’ll find this gift to your liking.” The Templar leader just stared in confusion, watching as Pearl gestured at him.

“What sort of game are you playing,” he muttered, irritated, and then stepped forward, yanking the sack off. There was a stunned second of silence as Jacob’s head lolled back with the force of it, before their eyes locked. Despite being half out of it from whatever drug Attaway had dosed him up with, the assassin’s eyes widened in momentary shock and realisation, before quickly being replaced by his usual, nonchalant expression - but not before Starrick had glimpsed the exposed panic. “Oh.” He leant down, gloved hand gripping Jacob’s neck, fingers digging in just enough to cause discomfort. “I see. You do spoil me, Pearl. A fine present indeed…” The hold tightened. “Mr Frye, what a pleasure to finally get a chance to meet.”

Jacob struggled, trying to wrest free, his senses screaming kill, kill, _kill_ , but the man - their target, their _enemy_ \- held him still, muscles still protesting the effects of the sedative. “Not…” He licked his parched lips, even talking a damned chore, “…the most ideal…circumstances, I must a..admit…” He attempted a weak grin.

“I don’t know how you survived, but your luck ends here. It was inevitable.” Starrick straightened up, easily pushing Jacob to the floor. “Your beloved sister will soon follow.”

“N..not before she took care..of…of Thorne.”

 _That was a mistake._ He flinched, sensing the change in atmosphere immediately. Snarling, Starrick grabbed hold of Jacob’s collar, dragging him up and slamming him into a desk, papers scattering. _Oh fuck, that was a big mistake._ The Templar gestured for help pinning the now struggling Jacob there, before snatching one of the confiscated daggers to rip open his shirt, exposing the eagle tattooed in black ink.

“Then let me send her a message.” And then the blade came down, slicing at his skin, removing the eagle’s head in a flurry of red.

 _Yeah, that’ll definitely send a message._ Jacob thought weakly, before he was being taken from the room, glaring at Attaway - because who would’ve thought she’d end up being his damned cousin - on the way.


	8. Torture Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ******* WARNING *****  
>   
>  Includes scenes of torture**

  
They'd dragged him down into the mansion's cellar, somewhere underground with thick walls and ceilings - no doubt good at keeping shouts for help in, Jacob thought - briefly removing the ropes from his arms. He'd swung wildly, fingers numb from the lack of circulation, and felt satisfaction in his fist connecting with a Templar's skull, before he was forced into shackles that kept him chained upright in the center of the room.

"Kinky," he joked, humour the only thing keeping him hopeful right now, and was rewarded with a rag pulled tight around his mouth. _Fuckers gagged me._

"Finally got you to shut up." Then the first blow struck his back. Jacob wasn't expecting it, eyes widening in pain as a muffled yelp escaped through the cloth. Again and again, with no rhythm or pattern, so that he was unable to guess when the next strike was coming, was unable to brace himself. He could feel his legs starting to tremble, relieved when his tormentor finally paused to walk around to face him. What little was left of his tattered shirt was damp with blood, and Jacob could only watch as the Templar torturing him gestured for a set of rather unpleasant looking tools. "Feel free to scream though."

And scream he did. This was worlds apart from the controlled pain inside the ring, where the blows mingled with adrenaline and a will to fight. No, this was cold and calculated, and every fiber of Jacob's being was reviled by the utter feeling of helplessness he was experiencing, the fear rising at being at the complete whims and mercy of a man looking to make him suffer.

The worst thing was that Starrick hadn't even bothered to show up - like he was some bug that wasn't even worth his time. Jacob fought back at the bile rising in his throat, winced as hot coals burnt marks across his flesh, writhed in a futile attempt to stop the nails being torn from his fingers, tried not to pass out from the gouges sliced into his chest. He was long past broken when the Templar finally left him be, but not before whispering promises of return. As soon as the man had left, he began to weep, tears stinging his open wounds.

He'd always thought he was tough. But strip him down to the basics, and he was just another human, right? Who wouldn't go mad from this.

_But you're not human, are you?_

Jacob snapped his eyes open, scanning the room for the source of the voice. Nothing - so great, he was hallucinating now - probably from all the blood that was now on the floor instead of in him.

 _Thought I saw something in you I'd given up hope of finding. But I guess this was all just a misunderstanding, hmm?_ There was the feeling of hot breath on the back of his legs, and then the wolf stalked round, sitting and pondering him with those soulless orbs.

 _YOU!_ Had Jacob not been gagged he would be yelling the words, but somehow the beast seemed to hear his thoughts. _Ok, totally hallucinating now, yep._

_Others may not be able to see me, but I am certainly no mirage. I am in your blood now, I am part of you, and all you have to do is let go._

Jacob narrowed his eyes. _Forgive me if I don't trust a ghost that bit me in the first place._

_Unavoidable. But necessary. Your arm was healed, was it not._

He...couldn't deny that. But it didn't change the fact that he was royally fucked right now.

_You've felt the pull of the moon, heard her whisper, stronger the brighter she grows. Won't you listen?_

_How the hell do I listen to the moon?!_

_I told you already, all you have to do is let go._ With that, the apparition vanished, and Jacob was left alone again in the cold and the dark.

* * *

Rather unfortunately, the Templar kept to his promise and returned - kept returning. Jacob had lost track of time, having nothing to anchor himself with, no glimpse of the outside world. Hopes of his sister coming to rescue him were fading fast, and despite wishing the specter would return to lift him from the endless cycle of torture, they never did, perhaps having been a delirious state all along.

He wasn't sure how many days it had been when they eventually took him from that dreaded cell. The rag - long since stained through with his blood - was finally removed, and Jacob drank the offered water without care for dignity, his parched mouth gasping for more.

"Oh, if your sister could see you now." Starrick. Jacob could only glare at him, ribs painfully apparent through his emaciated form, but he took the stale bread from him in an instant. There was no point in being stubborn right now, he couldn't afford not to eat, not if he wanted to survive this. Sunlight streamed in from a nearby window, the faint heat warming the chill from his body. "How pathetic you assassins truly are. You know, she never did come looking for you, not even after I sent her that little present." The Templar leader jabbed his cane at the patch of scabbed over skin on Jacob's chest. "Perhaps she thought I was doing her a favour."

Jacob snarled, lunging at Starrick with what strength he had left, but was easily batted away. “F-fuck you.” His voice was raspy and broken. “I’ll k-” he swallowed, words catching in a dry throat, “-kill you.”

“I think not.” The Templar laughed briefly, then turned to leave. “You’ll die here, and nobody will come to save you. It’s been entertaining watching you slowly come apart, as a repayment for all the issues you’ve caused, but it was always going to end like this. Look at yourself Mr Frye, you’ve only got at most a few days left.” He shook off the desperate hand clawed around his boot and closed the door behind him, leaving Jacob alone with his thoughts.

* * *

_The forest was closing in._

Burning and screaming and yelling and RED.

_Why was this all so familiar?_

Claws, scratching at the earth. Maw stained with a kill, hunter's instincts, the thrill of the hunt. To kill, and maim, and KILL again.

_Why wouldn't it all just stop?_

Jacob rolled over, flinching as a particularly nasty wound reopened with the movement. He peered out through half-lidded eyes to look at the moonlight bathing the room with a pale silver glow, cold but calming, and reached out towards it. The wolf's words echoed in his head, over and over. Telling him to listen. Closing his eyes again, Jacob tried to listen for something, anything, but was only met with silence.

And the forest. Every time he stopped looking, those tangled trees were back again, clutching at his skin, then at his fur. Telling him to let go, to stop resisting.

_Wait._

Jacob stopped running in his nightmare. He smiled, arms spread wide, and allowed the forest to swallow him whole.


	9. Morning News

The next thing Jacob was aware of was that he wasn't where he'd gone to sleep. That, and he most definitely was _not_ wearing any clothes. There was a high-pitched shriek, and Jacob whipped his head up in time to see a lady fleeing in horror from him, evidently because seeing a naked man covered in gore wasn't a normal circumstance.

So he was outside. Very much alive, and, judging by a quick glance up and down, having had one hell of a fight. Luckily, Jacob was by the Thames, and having a quick dip to clean off the layers of blood - the water wasn't the cleanest, but it was better than screaming murder wherever he went - he stole a set of clothes from a nearby line and darted down an alley to collect his thoughts.

 _Right._ Last thing he remembered was lying down to die on the floor of that mansion, but now he was no longer in said mansion, and evidently his body had decided to conveniently forget the events of the past few weeks. He was probably just having some sort of nice dream, and was going to wake up real soon and realise that he was still in said shitty situation. Jacob pinched an arm, hard, and after failing to jolt awake, decided to glance at the tattoo on his chest.

The eagle's head was gone, courtesy of Starrick, but bizarrely the skin was unblemished instead of a messy wound. Same for the rest of him - though he was still showing signs of the starvation he'd endured. Jacob decided that this was very much a dream, thank you, but if it felt this real then perhaps he'd use the time to enjoy a decent meal and some ale before someone slapped him out of it.

He was halfway across a street when a crowd caught his attention, gathered around an excitable newsgirl selling papers.

"Read all about it! Massacre at the Starrick estate!"

_What._

Jacob hurried over, leaning in to swipe a paper from the rack, ignoring the urchin's protests for payment. Bold letters detailed a 'tragic event' and 'escaped beast gone wild', with graphic photos of a trail of destruction exiting the manor, along with supposed eye-witness accounts of a terrifying creature leaving in the direction of the docks. Leaving in the direction of where he had woken up, covered in -

"Are you gonna pay for that or what?" The young girl's outstretched palm startled him out of his thoughts, and he smiled apologetically, putting the paper back and getting a few choice words for his trouble. He turned, darting into the shade of the nearby railway arch, and was surprisingly calm when a familiar figure appeared.

 _So, you listened._ The wolf smiled - or at least, what could be called a smile.

"This - that," Jacob gestured, ignoring the concerned looks he was getting for talking to apparent thin air, "it was you, wasn't it?" The apparition shook its head.

_No, Jacob, it was you. I am only an echo of the past, but my strength is now yours._

"Your strength," he hissed, lowered his voice, "killed a hell of a lot of people."

_People that were torturing you. Those that wished to see you and your friends come to harm. Is that notion so very uncomfortable for you?_

"I...no." Jacob shook his head, remembering what he'd had to endure at the hands of the Templars. He only hoped he'd gotten the bastard that did it to him. "And Starrick?"

_Regrettably, the snake still lives._

* * *

Jacob wasn’t sure why he’d ended up at Shaw’s house instead of going back to Evie - or literally anyone else - but here he was.

 _From one Templar lair to another._ Surely this wouldn’t end well, he should probably leave now. A small bark shocked him out of his thoughts, and he looked to see Shaw’s two dogs, Milton and Wilbur, loping up to him, tails wagging furiously.

“Happy to see me, eh?” They licked at his face, and Jacob relished the feeling of warmth from their fur. Being starved near to death followed by a dip in the freezing Thames hadn’t done wonders for his temperature control, so he went about grabbing one of Shaw’s winter coats - ignoring the bold Templar patterning - and made his way to the kitchen. He needed to eat something before he passed out.

A short while later, Jacob lay in front of a freshly lit fire, the dogs curled protectively around him. It was hard to stay conscious for long, despite the lingering concerns of what could happen when the Professor came back and found him there, and he found himself falling into a deep and thankfully nightmare free sleep.

At least until low growling woke him with a start. “Jacob?!”

“Professor? Ah, I - sorry. I didn’t mean to come here, it just happened.” The man just stood staring at him, arms limp by his sides, before slumping down in a chair from what appeared to be mild shock.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes?” An awkward tension hung there, and Jacob was suddenly grateful for the protective presence of the two dogs. One of them yawned idly. “Is that a…problem?”

“I’d heard Starrick had you, and so after confirming this, well,” he shifted, trying not to make eye contact. One of his hands was clenching something, and Jacob recognised it as a newspaper, no doubt with the same headlines he’d seen earlier. “I assumed you were dead, or almost. But then today -”

“- I think it was me, yes. But I’m not entirely sure.”

“Oh.” Shaw stared at the ceiling, fiddling with the edge of the paper.

“Why won’t you look at me? Not to be suspicious or anything, but it looks mighty guilty and all. Do I need to be concerned?”

“Your eyes are, ah, glowing, Mr Frye. It’s rather unsettling.”

“Jacob. Please call me Jacob.” This was more due to the words ‘Mr Frye’ inducing painful flashbacks of Templar torture, but he wasn’t about to admit that just yet. Let the Professor think he was just being friendly. Glancing over towards a mirror, he could indeed see his eyes were glistening oddly in the dark - rather like that of the ghostly wolf’s - whenever the light from the fire flickered away. “Huh, so they are. Fancy that.” He straightened up, moving out of the darkness so that it wasn’t as pronounced, and as the coat dropped from his shoulders Shaw gasped.

“You -” One of the dogs snarled briefly as he rushed over, but stopped as they realised it wasn’t in aggression. “You’re so thin!”

“What blinding powers of observation you have. Being stuck in a basement with no food will do that, in case that wasn’t common knowledge.” The man looked guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I just am, ok? It might be hard to accept, with me being a Templar and all, but I have come to value our interactions, would even hesitate to call us friends, if you’d accept that.” Jacob just looked at him blankly.

“ _Stop_ using the word Templar, and perhaps that might be possible. For now, I’d appreciate it if you could let me hide out here for a while, perhaps let me send a letter to Evie. Anonymously, of course. I just want to let her know I’m alright, and to be honest, this feels like the last place Starrick -” he hissed, the word painful, “- the last place he would look, if he did come searching.” The bastard hadn’t been interested in him before, but perhaps last night’s events had changed that. Jacob wasn’t about to take that chance.

“Alright.”

“I thought you’d put up more of a protest at harboring a wanted criminal and all.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Protecting a friend, then? And I’ll admit, if I was curious about that bite before, I’m fascinated now. How better to study you than to let you stay here?” Jacob tried not to make a comment about him being referred to as some sort of experiment, he didn’t have the energy for that conversation. “Come on, I have a guest bedroom that is far more comfortable than a floor.”

 _I’m used to sleeping on floors at this point._ Still, he wasn’t going to refuse, and a warm bed sounded perfect.


	10. Evie's Letter

After one of the best night’s sleeps he’d had in ages - Shaw’s bedsheets were silk, for crying out loud - Jacob emerged, flanked by Milton and Wilbur, to see the Professor sipping tea with a fresh newspaper in hand.

“They really have taken a shine to you, haven’t they?” He gestured at the canine companions.

“Must be the wolf in me,” Jacob grinned, then swiped a bread roll from the table.

“Hm. There’s a letter for you, by the way. From Evie I’d imagine, since the messenger returned with it.” He handed it over unopened.

_Dearest Jacob,_

_I am glad to hear that you are alive and in one piece. I’d scorn you for getting into this mess in the first place, but my relief at your letter has me overwhelmed._

_Starrick is tearing the streets apart for you. Wherever you are hiding, it would be wise for you to stay there. Do not send me any more correspondence for now, and especially do not write where you are currently, as I fear it could end up being intercepted._

_Please know that I tried to save you Jacob. I tried so many times, and I’m sorry I failed._

_Stay safe,_  
_Evie_

There were damp spots where the ink had bled, no doubt tears. Jacob’s gut twisted as he resisted the urge to go running to his sister that instant, instead settling for curling his fingers into fists, mouth set into a tight frown.

“Not what you wanted to hear?”

“What do you think? I’m stuck here, because apparently I’m suddenly interesting to someone I failed to kill, on a rampage I can’t remember.” Jacob stabbed a fork at some butter then sighed. “Evie says Starrick is looking for me.”

“Him and half of Scotland Yard. Though they’re after a giant dog, which I’m pretty sure looks nothing like you.” Shaw tossed down the paper, and Jacob tried not to laugh at the terrible, _terrible_ artist’s drawing of a dog with human like arms. It was comical to say the least. “But yes, Starrick knows what to look for, and he seems pretty determined.”

“That’s fucking great. Just great.” Leaning back, he tried to find a comfortable position where the chair didn’t dig into his ribs. “And unless this…thing I can do has an on-off switch, I’m pretty screwed if they find me. I’m not exactly in fighting shape right now, am I?”

“No.”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Jacob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a killer headache, and the thought of being cooped up again after having been stuck inside for so long was already driving him mad.

“Listen, Jacob. I know you don’t particularly trust me yet, but if there’s anything I can do to help, tell me. All I ask is -”

“- yes, yes, you can poke and prod me in your quest for knowledge or whatever.” He waved a hand in irritation. “For now, do you have anything more substantial than bread? Like chicken or something?”

“I do have a leg of lamb I was waiting to use for a social, but I guess you could have that.” Jacob snorted, the absurd comment making him realise quite how wealthy the man was, then followed him to the pantry. “It will take a while to cook howev -oh.”

No sooner than Shaw had retrieved it, Jacob had lunged with a feral intensity and grabbed it from his hands, overcome by hunger. It was only when there was the sickening crunch of bone that he realised he’d been tearing into it raw. He spat a couple of shards of marrow out and wiped the blood from his mouth, glancing over at Shaw who was standing, face extremely pale and looking like he was about to throw up.

“Uh. I didn’t realise that would happen.”

“It’s -”

Right, make that _having_ thrown up. Tossing the remains of the leg to two very excited dogs, Jacob stood up slowly, making sure to get rid of the last of the red with his sleeve. “How about I clean up, and you can uh, go lie down for a bit?” The man just grimaced, face pale.

* * *

It was only a few days, but Jacob felt like he was beginning to already put muscle back on. Shaw would often comment on how much his affinity for raw meat was draining his bank account, but honestly, he wasn’t picky with what he got and Jacob felt like it was more the memory of the lamb leg that had him complaining.

“This really is an alarming rate of recovery. This should be taking weeks, months even.”

“I thought we’d gathered that I’m not normal.” He looked at the Professor, who had somehow convinced him that a blood sample at this point would be useful, and was busy preparing the necessary equipment. “How is it out there, by the way?”

“Starrick doesn’t appear to be letting up any time soon, if that’s what you’re asking. Now hold still.” A tourniquet was pulled tight around his arm, a needle came into view and then -

\- then everything went to shit.

_Hot coals across his flesh, nails being torn from his fingers, gouges sliced into his chest, over and over and over and OVER._

_The forest, dark and unforgiving, now welcoming him. A maw rising to howl, bathing the walls of the mansion in red._

_Time to **hunt.**_

_Shouts and cries and they weren’t his own anymore, they belonged to those who’d hurt him, who’d made him writhe in pain._

_Make them **suffer.**_

_Yes, it was their turn. Now he was the hunter and they were his prey, and the futile efforts to bring him down stood no chance against his rage._

**_Kill them all._ **

“Jacob! JACOB!” There was frantic, panicked yelling, mingling with loud barking and cries for help. He narrowed his eyes, going to speak - but all that came out was a rumbling growl, low and inhuman. “Jacob, please!” He was looming over Shaw, the man’s eyes wide with fear as he scrabbled to get away, but was stopped by claws pinning his arms in place. Jacob’s claws.

 _What?_ He shook his head, trying to lift the haze of red-tinged fog that was threatening to overwhelm him again, trying to ignore the worryingly tempting smell of blood from where he’d just wounded Shaw. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the needle that only moments ago, had been about to pierce his skin.

_The needle._

There was a brief surge of emotions and Jacob forced them down, reaching over a furred hand - he’d deal with _that_ image later - to smash the syringe to pieces. The act of violence seemed to calm whatever darkness was boiling inside him. The red began to slowly recede, body warping back into something more recognisable as his own, until the barking of the dogs stilled. Jacob gasped, collapsing back against the hard wood of an overturned desk. “No needles.”

A nod.

“D-definitely no more needles.”


	11. Train Wreck

“I don’t think it’s safe for me to stay here any longer.” Jacob said, pulling on one of the few jackets Shaw had that wasn’t adorned with Templar finery. He’d lost all his equipment when Attaway had ‘gifted’ him to Starrick, but he was fine with using his fists and a knife or two, and it wouldn’t be hard to pick up some new weapons.

“This is about the other day, isn’t it? I told you I’m fine, don’t go rushing off into danger just because of a few scratches.”

“A few scratches?” He glared at the Professor, trying his hardest not to yell. “I almost killed you, damnit, what if it happens again?”

“What if it happens out there…”

The words hung heavy for a while, Jacob fumbling angrily with the straps of his boots, trying to ignore the feelings bubbling inside of him.

“I don’t want you to get hurt again, ok? You’ve been nothing but helpful, and the thoughts I had when I -” he shook his head, trying to clear the memories of _kill, rip, shred_ , “- forgive me for wanting to protect my friends.”

“Oh, so we’re friends now, are we?” There was a quiet laugh, and he looked up to see Shaw offering him his gun. “Take it. You’ll need it more than me I’d imagine, though it’d probably be best to keep a low profile for the moment.” They stood there awkwardly for a while, not sure how to proceed from there, until finally Jacob left out a window with a quick glance over his shoulder. The night air was cool, moon a thin sliver in the sky. Even if he were bold enough to leave against better judgment, the darkness would offer a decent amount of secrecy, and once he got to their train hideout - the constant movement and travel would keep him hidden. For now, he enjoyed the ability to be out in the open after so long locked away.

_Yes, this is what he had missed. This was what it was to be free._

Launching himself across the rooftops, Jacob ran as fast as he could, no heed for safety as the wind rushed past and tugged on his hair. A leap there, a dart over a chimney, a quick scale of a wall - it was like all the worries of the past month were washed away. The night was an explosion of colour, his eyes finding it easy to pierce the gloom. Another perk, no doubt, though he wasn’t sure what others would think of the glow. For now, he focused on finding the train. How amusing it was that he wanted to see his sister this badly - it only took almost dying and being tortured to make him realise there was more to their relationship than just bickering. Jacob practically threw himself from one edge to the next in his haste, until he’d reached the overpass near Cannon Street station.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to find what he did. A shell of the train they once called home, riddled with bullet holes and abandoned on its side by the tracks, picked clean by scavengers. Panicked, Jacob rushed over.

“Evie!” Nothing. “Agnes, Nigel? Henry? _Anyone_!” An eerie silence followed, punctuated by a flock of startled birds as Jacob made his way into the wreckage.

 _Why didn’t Shaw tell me?_ He frowned, a familiar haze of red threatening to take hold, then pushed it down in an effort to look for clues. It was uncomfortable seeing a splatter of blood, but for some reason he just knew that it wasn’t from someone he cared for, like the smell was wrong. Whatever had happened, it had obviously caught everyone by surprise. Henry’s carriage was stripped bare, research gone and the safe broken apart. The rest of their belongings didn’t fare much better. _Now would be a good time for some help, or one of your riddles if that’s asking too much._

 _I might be obliged._ He hadn’t been expecting the wolf to answer, but there they were. _I’m impressed you’ve managed to suppress the change twice now already, you’re stronger than I thought._

 _Change? Wait - I don’t have time for this. I need to find the others_. Jacob shook his head, resisting the urge to ask questions about what this ‘change’ was exactly, even if he had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. For now, making sure Evie and the gang were in one piece was all he wanted.

_How does the eagle hunt?_

It was an odd question - of course the spectre came with more riddles, instead of giving straight answers. But a simple one nonetheless, given their assassin ability.

_With its vision._

_What of the wolf? That is what you are now, after all._ Frowning, Jacob tried not to argue that point - even he hadn’t managed to forget the fur and claws from when he’d attacked Shaw, or the reports from the newspapers, but it was still unsettling. Calming his mind, he tried to focus on the carriage around him, closing his eyes to avoid the urge to use his eagle ability. There was a scent he recognised in amongst the chaos. Flowers, elegant, but with a hint of gunpowder. _Evie._

“I’m a damn hunting dog now,” he muttered, but let himself follow it regardless, ignoring the satisfied laugh from behind him. The trail took him almost halfway across London, weaving through alleyways and underground tunnels, until it finally ended at a run down hovel, nestled in between similarly dilapidated buildings. Taking a moment to steel himself, Jacob half thought about knocking on the door. Perhaps caution might be wise. He was about to start climbing up to the next floor when a ragged curtain was nudged aside, the telltale glint of a rifle barrel aiming at his heart.

“Who’s there? Show yourself, or face the consequences!” There was no mistaking that voice.

“…Evie?”

“- wh - Jacob?” The door was flung open and he was pulled into the house, and his sister’s embrace. “Why are you here?”

“Hello to you too, Evie. Not really the sort of welcome I was hoping for, but I guess if you want me to leave, then I’ll be on my way.”

“This isn’t the time for your sarcasm, dear brother,” she snapped back, but he could see her smile. They both made their way down through a hatchway hidden beneath a ragged carpet, into a basement that was far more welcoming than the hovel above, and Jacob relaxed with a sigh as he saw that the rest of his friends had made it out of the train ambush relatively safely. Nigel was nursing a broken arm in a sling, and Henry appeared to have been bruised over his jaw, but they were all still very much alive. After the much needed catch-up, he took Evie and Henry aside.

“The train.”

“We were attacked shortly after your letter, it was a miracle nobody was killed.” Jacob tried to wrestle with the sinking feeling that it was his fault for sending the messenger that way, after all, how would the hideout have been found otherwise? “And no, Jacob, it wasn’t your fault. I can see that guilt you wear. Unfortunately, ah -” Henry paused to ensure the others weren’t in earshot. “A couple of Blighters followed Nigel back after he attempted to listen in on their plans, and you know how his stealth skills aren’t the best….”

 _That was true._ It was rather embarrassing how obvious the lad’s stalking of Agnes had been when they’d first crossed paths, so it wasn’t at all hard to imagine. Evie tapped her fingers in frustration.

“I thought I told you to stay where you were hiding! You’re more likely to be found now that you’ve left, even I couldn’t figure out where you’d gone before. For Gods sake Jacob, I know you can be stubborn sometimes, but why would you leave?!”

 _Because I was with a Templar. Because I almost turned into something terrible. Because I almost murdered him._ These were all things that Jacob wanted to say - should say - but he found the words catching in his throat, along with the realisation that he’d now transferred that danger here. What if he ended up slaughtering them all?

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he started panicking, moving towards the exit in a hurry. “I need to go, now, before it’s too late.” The pair of them caught his arms, holding them firm, Evie trying her best to calm him.

“Sorry Jacob, I didn’t mean to say you weren’t wanted here, that’s not what I meant at all.”

_Wrong, so very wrong._

“She’s right, we only want you to be safe!”

_But what about you?_

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Both Agnes and Nigel had overheard the commotion, hurrying back to see Jacob trying to leave, the others struggling to hold him back. Evie gripped his coat tighter.

_You’re not safe._

“Starrick is still after you!”

The very mention of that name had Jacob’s emotions seething. He’d kept them in check when he’d seen the train wreck, managed to push them down when he was surrounded by those he thought he’d lost, but the word _Starrick_ \- with that, he was back in that cell, screaming from the never-ending torture -

“NO!” Jacob roared, eyes flashing. It was simple to throw them from his arms, but as he turned to Evie, her shock and fear stopped him from sinking further. With a shudder, he dashed to leave.

_I’ll be the death of you._


	12. Explosive Sabotage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NB - contains spoilers and in-game dialogue

Jacob wasn’t sure how the letter got into his pocket. He smiled at the thought that there was an urchin out there that had got the one-up on him, before pulling it out to take a look. It appeared to be an invitation to meet with a certain ‘Maxwell Roth’, words written in an overtly fancy scripture with embellishments of gold leaf, tacky to say the least. He’d heard of the Blighter’s leader, but for an open meeting? Most odd.

_Probably some sort of trap._

Against his better judgment, however, he found himself walking in through the doors of the Alhambra. The stage was bathed in crimson light, cutouts of gnarled trees stretching in every direction, a table laid with a veritable feast - sadly all fakes made of painted wood - by which a wiry man stood facing away, arms folded.

“You should know better than to keep your back to an enemy, Mr Roth,” Jacob proffered, mildly startled by the speed at which he turned to face him.

“Ah, our honoured guest has arrived. No need for formalities. Come, sit!” For lack of better judgment, Jacob did just that. The man had a curious scar down the side of his face, a ragged and ugly thing, but it fit his features well. “I’ve had my eye on you for some time.”

“Hm.” He pushed the tankard that was offered to him away, the memory of Attaway’s drugged wine fresh in his memory. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to take things from strangers?” That earned him a laugh.

“My lad, it’s just a drink among folk of a similar breed.” Roth took a swig from Jacob’s tankard, winking as he did so. “See? But, to matters at hand!” He didn’t do a very good job of hiding the satisfied smile as Jacob took the ale back.

“It’s not like you wouldn’t want me dead. I mean, I’ve been picking off your soldiers one by one, doesn’t that make you angry?”

“Ha! On the contrary, surprise is the spice of life. Now Mr Starrick, that’s err, a different story. I find your heroics in battling him quite magnificent.” He paused, taking a quick sip of his own drink before pouring Jacob some more. “I’m drownin’ in directives, all _terribly_ boring. Let’s say we work together and bring ‘im down!”

Jacob laughed, leaning back in his chair slightly, uncertain of what to make of the odd fellow. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. How do I know you’re not gonna turn me in for the bounty when I have my back turned?”

“My friend, if I fail to provide you with a chance to cause Starrick some pain?” Roth’s voice grew dramatic. He spread his arms wide, excitement building as he stepped closer to Jacob, who found himself leaning towards the man despite himself. The energy he had was electrifying. “Well you can charge inta’ this theatre and kill me yourself!”

“That aside, what do you get out of all of this?”

“Why, a chance to have a little fun with the bravest man in London!” He raised his arm to toast, Jacob giving a small scoff and looking away. It was nice to have someone praising him for once, having always been scolded by his sister and fellow assassins, and with everything having gone to shit lately, the confidence that this man gave off was consuming him. He’d been worried about hurting his friends, so why not let his anger out on Starrick’s men?

 _I could do with a ‘little fun’._ A warm smile plucked at Jacob’s features, and after a brief pause he joined Roth in his toast. “You have a deal.”

* * *

Following a short carriage ride, Jacob found himself at the top of a building overlooking St Pancreas station. He’d been surprised at how agile Roth was, the man scaling the walls with ease, as if it were second nature to him. Perhaps they had more in common than he realised.

“You know, I thought you and Starrick would be fightin’ for the same ends. What gives?”

“He casts an iron grip. _Freedom_ Jacob, stealing that is far more than a sin. It denies us our humanity!”

 _Humanity, huh._ Jacob grew silent at the words, withdrawing inside himself a little, bitter. He’d long been struggling with the concept of freedom in a world of Templars and rules, where he couldn’t even be himself, and with the recent change to his life - was humanity a thing for him anymore?

Roth seemed to sense his unease, moving the topic on. “This station contains a large shipment of explosives, to be delivered to Starrick & Co -”

“- and you intend to steal it.” Jacob snarled. _Of course!_ He was just being used again, another means to an end -

His thoughts were cut short by laughter from Roth. “What? No! I intend to blow it up!”

 _That was unexpected._ A grin filled his features, Jacob pulling his hood up as rain began to fall. “You know, Roth, I’m beginning to like you more and more…and I’m to do away with Starrick’s merchandise, leaving chaos in my wake?”

“Why not Jacob, why not? As we speak, a train is headed towards us. That may help you enter the station unseen. I’d say good luck, but you? You don’t need it.”

Leaping from the building onto the top of one of the train carriages, Jacob quickly crept inside to hide amongst the boxes. The sound of the movement on the tracks reminded him of their own hideout, how he’d found it smoking on the sides just the other day, and the memory made his blood boil. Time for some payback.

It wasn’t long before the train pulled into the station. Keeping out of sight, he glanced around to spot the guards posted on the otherwise empty platform. A set of Templars were busy issuing orders to unload, and he found himself going to unsheathe the hidden blade that wasn’t there, frustrated by its absence. He’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

Letting out a low whistle, Jacob managed to grab the attention of the nearest guard, waiting until they were close to grapple them with an arm around their windpipe. Once they were unconscious he searched the body for weapons before moving on. He wanted to avoid bloodshed, given that it seemed to…let the demons out, and although it was slower than going in swinging, he was able to make progress - at least until he was spotted by a Templar patrolling the upstairs deck.

“Can you tell me when the next train to Paddington is? I seem to have gotten lost!” He asked jokingly, and received a round of gunfire for his efforts. “Guess you’re not the talking type, huh?” The rifle fire clipped his shoulder, and he growled with the fresh pain. Ducking behind a couple of barrels, Jacob tried to calm his breathing, to push down the red. _Shit!_

_You look a little cornered._

“Not now, you overgrown dog!” Jacob hissed, trying to wave away the wolf, who just regarded him with amusement as his hand wafted through their form. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He took the chance to throw one of the knives he’d taken off the guard’s corpse, watching as it buried itself in one of his attackers’ chests.

_Rude._

“He was asking for it!”

_I meant you - nevermind. You do realise how this is going to go down, right?_

“Enlighten me.” It was pretty clear to Jacob that he was vastly outnumbered. Perhaps this was all just some form of elaborate trap sprung by Roth, but the man seemed to have been telling the truth, or at least believed in his abilities more than was true. But he was down most of his weapons, and hadn’t thought to acquire more before running headfirst into danger again.

_You either let them eventually shoot you, or you let my strength help._

“Like hell I’ll let you get in my head -” Jacob groaned irritably, bringing down a guard who’d gotten too close, “- well, more than this I mean. I don’t fancy being front page news again.”

The wolf appeared to sigh, flicking their tail in annoyance, before stepping away to vanish into thin air. _It’s not like you’ll have much of a choice soon anyway._

“Give up now and we’ll let you die quick ‘n’ easy, no point draggin’ this out!”

“I’m good thanks.” Jacob’s ears twitched as he picked up muttering amongst some of the Templars, his keen hearing picking up talk of bringing him in alive, and he realised they’d noticed who he was. Taking the opportunity, he launched himself over the barrels he’d been hiding behind. It was a few steps to the nearest group of attackers, and he grabbed their pistol from them, twisting it round to fire point blank in their chest. The impact splattered him with a mixture of gunpowder and blood.

It was like something was screaming inside him, full of desire to kill. This wasn’t who he was, wasn’t part of the Creed but - they were Templars, weren’t they?

_They deserve it._

Jacob found himself agreeing with the whisper, and as he turned to the Templar advancing on him, he dropped the gun he was holding, instead swinging one arm with vicious strength. His fingers - no, his claws - ripped through the man easily, and they crumpled to the floor in a heap. This only served to ignite the voices further. The thirst rose as he tore through their ranks, and by the time he realised it was too late he was letting out a howl of bloodlust. He felt strong. Stronger than he’d ever been, and the look in his enemies’ eyes as they ran from him was electrifying. Let them fear.

It wasn’t long before Jacob stood surrounded by stillness, numbness setting in now that it was over. Rain was slanting through the station entrance, driven by the wind, and as he paused he noticed his reflection in one of the bloodied puddles. Aside from his green-flecked eyes, nothing about him was recognisable. Easily above six foot, with a beastly form and claws like blades, predatory -

“- _magnificent_!” He snarled at the approaching voice, fangs bared. In a blind panic, Jacob bit into his hand, using the sense of control to focus, to suppress the creature he’d become, and collapsed with relief as he felt his form changing back. Just in time too, as Roth came round the corner of one of the trains.

“Well don - Jacob, my dear fellow, why are you…” He realised what had happened as Roth’s eyes darted over his body a little too inquisitively.

“Naked? Ah, um. I don’t have a good explanation for that.”

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you. Here.” Tossing his coat at Jacob, Roth gestured to his Blighters to begin piling up the dynamite, ready to set it alight. “We’d best be off, watch the show from a distance. This train will do nicely.”

It _was_ a good show. The disused station lit up with a glorious explosion, reducing the building - and the evidence of what had happened - to rubble. Jacob shivered a little, but not from the cold.

“Apologies, I must run.” Roth paused to leave, apparently having planned for most eventualities given the carriage that was awaiting, hidden away in an alleyway next to where they’d stopped the train. “Do come see me again. If only to return my coat, since evidently you need it for now.”

“Wait.” He jumped after the man, ignoring the splinter that had found a way into his bare foot, and darted near him. “I was wondering, if it weren’t too much trouble?”

Laughing, Roth threw his arms wide, gesturing at Jacob to continue. “The very nature of trouble brings excitement! Do tell.”

“I need a place to stay.” Despite having doubts about getting too close to an enemy-turned-ally, there weren’t many options which didn’t involve endangering friends or sleeping it rough, which wasn’t the best option when Starrick was still hunting him down.

The eagerness with which Roth accepted was unexpected.


End file.
